I'm Here for You
by 0ne.w1sh
Summary: Niall is feeling down and Zayn knows just how to pick him up again. Fluffy Ziall


NIALL'S POV

I sighed and ran a hand through my blonde hair as I sat on the edge of my bed. Touring was fun, and I couldn't ask for a better group of guys to do it with, but I was really starting to get homesick. I missed my mom's cooking, and my brother and stepsister, and having the same accent as everyone around me. Even though all the American girls thought my Irish accent was attractive, sometimes I felt alienated because I talked differently than everyone else.

This was true also in the band. I was the only blonde, the only Irishman, the only one without any tattoos, and the only one without a steady girlfriend. These differences might seem minor from an outsider's perspective, but I already felt like I was the weak link, the one with the worst voice and whom girls least liked.

I looked up when the bedroom door opened and saw Zayn's outline standing in the doorway.

"You alright?" he asked, reaching for the light switch.

"Don't," I told him and lay back on my bed. "I'm fine, I just want to go to sleep."

"You don't sound fine," he told me, shutting the door behind him and sitting at my feet in the darkness.

"Well I am," I said, and my voice was a little harsher than I meant it to be.

He was quiet for a minute and then asked, "Mind if I bunk in here for the night?"

"Why?" I wondered aloud. Each of us had our own bedroom, and his was quite a bit larger than mine and certainly not as messy.

"Harry's drunk," he said, and that was the only explanation needed. Harry was extremely loud when he was drunk and his room was right next to Zayn's.

"You cool with sleeping on the floor?"

"No," he said forwardly, and slid under the covers with me.

I tensed up, surprised, but he seemed perfectly relaxed as he cuddled up to my back and slipped his arm over my waist.

I hadn't been expecting company, and had assumed all the others were drunk and would be up for a long time, so I wasn't wearing a shirt. I'd always been self-conscious about my weight—I wasn't overweight by any stretch of the imagination, but I certainly didn't have a six-pack like the rest of the boys. I always promised myself I'd stop eating so much and try to get one, but my love of food always won.

ZAYN'S POV

I felt Niall tense up when I touched him and rolled my eyes, exasperated.

"Something wrong?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No," he said stubbornly, his voice muffled into the pillow.

I rubbed his side with my thumb experimentally. He shrunk away from me and said quietly, "Stop."

"What?" I asked, pretending to be confused.

"Just stop touching me and let me sleep," he said harshly.

I sat up, leaning on my elbow, and pulled on his shoulder until he was lying on his back.

"Since when do you not want to be touched?" I asked. He always had his arm around one of us, or was sitting on our laps, or cuddling up to us when we were watching tv.

"Since I don't have a shirt on," he huffed.

"Why does that matter?"

He shook his head slightly, his eyes still closed, and wrapped his arms across his stomach, as if to hide it.

"You don't have to hide anything from me," I whispered, my breath tickling his cheeks.

"That's so easy for you to say."

What was he talking about? I didn't have to ask, because he took a deep breath and continued.

"All you boys have perfect six-packs, and I don't have any muscle at all. It's all fat." I saw his fingers squeeze his stomach, hard, and I gently pried his hand away and slipped my fingers through his.

"It doesn't matter—" I began, but he cut me off, yanking his hand away.

"IT DOES!" he shouted. "You don't get it because everything about you is so fucking perfect! All four of you! And then there's me, the ugly blonde kid in the corner who can't even sing—"

"Niall," I said softly, leaning down to press my lips to his forehead.

He was quiet immediately, his eyes widening.

"What—what are you d—"

"Stop. Never say that about yourself again, Niall. I don't care if you have muscle, or if your voice breaks once in a while. I love you just the way you are."

"You can't say that to me," he breathed. "You have Perrie."

I closed my eyes. He had no idea. I had been absolutely in love with him for so long now, and I wanted so badly to tell him, but he was right. I had Perrie. I closed my fingers into a fist and let it drop softly onto his chest as I lied, "I didn't mean it like that."

His face fell slightly, but he said, "Good. She deserves better than that." With that, he turned away from me, lying on his side.

I quietly settled in next to him, pressing my chest against his back and carefully putting my arm around his waist. I expected him to pull away, so I was surprised when he wordlessly tangled his legs with mine. I nuzzled my face into the back of his neck and placed a soft kiss there.

"Zayn," he said, so softly I wondered if I had imagined it.

"Niall," I answered, just as softly.

"How are you and Perrie?"

Taken aback, I answered, "Oh, we're good," just like I did every time an interviewer asked me, because that's what management would want me to say.

"How are you actually?" I could tell he was exasperated. He didn't give me a chance to answer, and pressed further. "Do you love her?"

I didn't know how to answer. If I told him no, he'd ask who I was actually in love with, and I knew he wouldn't like the answer. Niall was completely straight, and I didn't want to complicate our relationship. But I decided to bank on the next-to-nothing chance that he might actually like me back, and whispered, "I don't know."

"Zayn, I know you like the back of my hand, and I can tell that you don't." He picked up my hand and began playing with my fingers, tracing circles around my knuckles.

"You're good," I said, laughing shakily.

He twisted his head around so that he could look at me. "How good?"

I saw his gaze flitter to my lips, and without even thinking, I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. It was a gentle kiss that barely lasted 3 seconds, but every nerve in my body felt like it was set on fire.

"Pretty damn good," I said when I pulled back, grinning widely.

"Why did it take you 3 years to kiss me?" he asked, smiling just as big, his eyes twinkling.

"You don't know how hard that was for me to do," I told him.

"Hopefully it was worth it," he smirked.

I nodded, laughing slightly.

"Zayn?"

"Hmm."

"I love you."

"You too," I said, and kissed him again. When we broke apart, I told him, "And I did mean it _like that_ earlier, for the record."


End file.
